Misery, Company, and Beer
by alanabloom
Summary: Post-finale. Beverly shows up at Alana's house with beer. Drinking, dogs, and commiseration…because we need more lady friendship on this show. Implied Alana/Will.


Alana Bloom isn't up for company.

She ignores the doorbell the first time it rings, and is strongly considering repeating that strategy for the second ring (and the third, and the fourth, if it comes to that). If she had to guess, she'd wager it's Hannibal; she's ignored a few calls from him today. He's concerned, and Alana appreciates that, but she has no desire to talk to Hannibal about Will right now.

The doorbell rings again - her would-be visitor's persistent. Only the off chance that it's Jack Crawford sends Alana off the couch to answer it. Not that she wants to talk to Jack, either; in fact, he's currently coming in dead last on her list of favorite people, but he could have information about Will's case.

She walks into the living room, three of the dogs trotting along at her heels, and opens the door to find neither Hannibal or Jack waiting to see her.

It's the woman from the Forensics team. Katz. It takes Alana a second to remember her first name: Beverly. Okay. Beverly Katz is standing on Alana's front porch holding a six pack of beer in each hand.

"Uh. Hi?"

Alana can't keep the confusion out of her voice, but Beverly just lifts an eyebrow, her reply nonchalant, nothing in her tone to suggest the two of them barely know each other, have in fact never had a personal conversation in their lives. "I needed a beer. Thought you might, too."

For a moment, Alana blinks at her, thrown off and feeling suddenly self-conscious; she hasn't looked in the mirror today, but she's certain she looks a wreck. Besides, Beverly's obviously here because of Will, and Alana doesn't feel much like talking about him to anyone, much less a near stranger whom she's barely even interacted with professionally.

But something stops Alana from politely declining, from simply saying she's about to head to bed (she's sure Beverly would believe it, in spite of the relatively early hour - Alana hasn't slept well the last few nights, and it surely shows). It's the way Beverly had been in the lab that day, when they were going over evidence on Will's fishing lures. She'd looked at Alana - almost always Alana, rarely at Jack - like she understood what she was saying would be hard for Alana to hear. As if she didn't like saying it, like she genuinely wished she'd found nothing. And when the others had started in on talk of trophies and serial killing, Beverly hadn't said a word.

And somehow, this is enough for Alana to step aside and usher the other woman inside, replying wryly, "Is it okay if I'm already a few beers in?"

Beverly gives her a half smirk. "I'm sure I can catch up."

Beverly follows Alana inside and is immediately accosted by several dogs, sniffing curiously.

"_Down_, boy," Alana grabs the collar of the largest, most aggressive of the bunch, tugging him off Beverly and apologizing. "Sorry about that."

"No worries. I grew up with big dogs." Alana takes one of the six packs from Beverly, leaving her with a free hand to rub the animal behind his ears. "What's his name?"

"Don't know," Alana murmurs shortly. "They're all Will's. Haven't had a chance to ask."

"Oh." Beverly's face sobers immediately; didn't take long for his name to come up. She glances sideways at Alana, who's placating a few more of the dogs with bone shaped treats.

Beverly doesn't know Alana Bloom well, having only crossed over on a few cases that brought the psychiatrist into the lab. And yet even she can tell that the other woman looks beaten down, mentally and emotionally drained from the events of the past several days. Her eyes are bloodshot and swollen in the way that makes it impossible to tell if she's been crying recently or just often.

Still, Beverly has the grace to pretend not to notice, avoiding any sort of sympathetic or awkward expression as she follows Alana into the living room. Just as she'd said, there are already several empty beer bottles littering the coffee table in front of the house, and they add the six packs to the pile, sitting down on the couch as they both reach for a beer.

"Cheers," Beverly offers wryly, the glass clinks as they touch the bottles together. Beverly takes a generous swig and then, seeing as Alana already broached the subject, asks, "D'you visit him today?"

Alana's leaning forward on the couch, her elbows braced on her knees, gaze fixed on the beer in her hands. "No," she says in a low voice, sounding like the word is physically painful to say. She goes quiet, and Beverly's about to change the subject, when Alana adds, "He, um. He doesn't want me to. He told Jack."

"Oh." Bev's not sure what to say to that.

After a moment of silene, Alana lifts her head, schooling her face into a neutral expression and stating flatly, "He's going to have to get over that, though. Eventually I'll _have_ to go talk to him. I'm the psychiatrist for his defense."

Eyebrows lifting, Beverly asks, "He's gonna let you do that?"

"He doesn't have a choice. He's refusing to let Hannibal have anything to do with it." There's a muscle jumping in Alana's jaw, and her eyes suddenly glint with determination. "And anyway, I _want_ to be the one to do it. I need to."

Cracking open another bottle, Beverly comments, "You don't think they'll question your credibility? Since you guys are pretty close friends?"

Alana cuts her eyes at Beverly, expression dangerous as she snaps sarcastically, "Are you working for the prosecution?"

Unbothered, Beverly leans back on the couch and answers, "Hey, I just know how they work. But if you're not worried..."

"I'm taking the stand as a psychiatrist who knows the effects of Will's condition. That's it," Alana says firmly. Her eyes darken, the muscles in her face pulling a little tighter. "I've done enough damage trying to be his friend."

Beverly frowns at that, confused; as far as she can tell, Will Graham could use all the friends he can get. "What does that mean?"

Alana shakes her head almost angrily, voice dripping with self-loathing as she says, "I was so damn set on not treating him like a patient, that I missed what was going on. So _stupid_. I didn't even...I didn't help him." Alana's voice cracks, and she grits her teeth, equal parts mortified and furious with herself for doing this in front of Beverly, when to her surprise the other woman speaks up in a quiet voice.

"I know what you mean. I've been thinking the same thing." Alana glances up at her, questions in her eyes, so Beverly clarifies, "He called me once, in the middle of the night, because he'd seen the girl with Cotard's, Georgia Madchen?" She waits until Alana jerks her head once in recognition. "Will said he couldn't be sure if it had been real, and that he didn't remember major parts of what happened." She rakes a hand through her hair, sighing. "It was obviously serious. But I did nothing."

Alana stares at her for a long time without responding, and eventually asks in an impossibly small voice, "He called you for help?"

"I mean, it was partially forensic help," Beverly clarifies. "But yeah."

Alana closes her eyes, and there's no jealousy in her voice, just pure sadness. "He never...he almost always tells me he's fine. Tries to play it off."

"Well, yeah. Of course he does. Same reason he doesn't want you visiting him in prison." Alana looks over, genuinely questioning. "He has feelings for you, right?" A pause, then a small, pained nod. Beverly continues knowingly, "There ya go. Will doesn't want you thinking of him like that. All screwed up and dangerous. He wants you to feel the same way he does." Alana looks away, and Beverly gauges her quickly. "But you already do. Right?"

It's as if it takes Alana awhile to force out the answer. "Yes."

They swig beer in silence for awhile, and then Beverly offers simply, "I'm sorry." The only expression of sympathy she's allowed herself, a small acknowledgement.

"Thanks," Alana accepts.

They're quiet for a bit, letting that settle, but after awhile Beverly confesses, "I haven't been to visit him."

"Why not?" There's no judgement in Alana's voice, just curiosity.

"I dunno...I've never even seen Will outside of work, y'know? Can't decide if I'm the level of friend you want visiting you in prison, so I haven't gone."

Alana slumps back against the couch, seemingly letting herself relax for the first time. After a moment, she asks, "Would you?"

"Visit Will?"

"Yeah. Just...he won't see me. Or Hannibal. And Jack's only there to interrogate him. I...I want him to see a friendly face. I don't want him to be alone all the time."

"Alright, sure." That argument sways Beverly easily. "I'll go tomorrow." Alana gives her a small, grateful smile. "And I'll tell him you say hi. And that we got good and drunk without him..." To emphasize this point, Beverly passes Alana another beer. "...and that he needs to get his stubborn head out of his ass and stop being so selective about his visitors."

A surprised laugh bursts out of Alana, and it feels absolutely foreign, but good. "Cheers to that," she says firmly, offering her fresh bottle for another clink.

Beverly returns it with a grin, but when she finishes sipping, her expression turns serious. "And I want to help you. With the trial. If I can." She meets Alana's eyes, all steely eyed purpose. "I know the evidence isn't what matters at this point, that it's pretty bad no matter how you interpret...but if there's anything I can do..."

"Thank you," Alana replies, voice utterly sincere. "I'm sure there will be."

"I want him out of there, too."

"I know."

For a few moments, they sit and drink in companionable silence, when one of the smaller dogs trots over and jumps on the couch between them, crawling up Beverly's chest, trying to sniff out the visitor.

"Hiya, Lil Willy."

Alana nearly spits out her beer. "_Lil Willy_?"

Beverly gives her a look like it should be obvious. "Until we know their names, I'm going to assume Will named them all after himself."

Alana's laughing again, and it feels like relearning a forgotten skill. Meanwhile, Beverly rubs the pup's stomach. "How you doing, Lil Willy? You having fun staying with Dr. Bloom?"

Her laughter abating, Alana shakes her head and smirks. "Oh, no way. You bring beer to my house? You get to call me Alana."


End file.
